In Ten Years
by p01ent
Summary: Arthur Kirkland and Francis Bonnefoy are two gay friends trying to get themselves a good life. Arthur through relationships, and Francis through one night stands. They realised how skewered their lives are and made a promise to be an item if they're both single 10 years later. Rated T for implications, and language


_A/N:_

 _Ello loves! I'm so sorry for not updating Bittersweet yet, but I will soon once I'm done with finals in another month! Once that's that, I'll be sure to make a proper schedule for updates from then on~ So dont worry your pretty little heads over it, eh?_

 _Btw, if y'all must know, those fic is actually inspired by this LGBTQ+ film on netflix titled "The 10 year plan". It's really nice m8s! Take my queer words for it~_

 _[insert an obvious disclaimer here]_

Arthur stifled a yawn as he strode along the pavement towards his flat. The Brit had taken the tube back considering how his tuition lecturer had an emergency that lead to the class being hastily cancelled, allowing the students freedom to roam anywhere.

He was slightly irked to say the least, considering how the timing was horrid and he had to wait a bit for the tube back.

When Arthur pressed the button to his floor in the lift, he couldn't help but feel something coiling in his gut. It felt heavy, as though a rock had somehow ended up in his stomach.

He just brushed it off.

And instead he focused on how he'd be surprising Alfred, his boyfriend for three months just recently, by entering their flat before the sun rests. His heart fluttered a bit, a feeling that he had grown to love instead of curse, because now he had the man who made him feel that way in his company.

He was lovestruck, he knew—as his lips twitched into a small, dreamy smile, stepping out of the lift that arrived at his floor.

Throughout the small walk he had to make towards his flat, he had been sporting a content look, quietly humming to himself a love song Alfred had introduced him to. There was a fuzzy feeling, a feeling that made him happier.

And it was all thanks to Alfred.

When the Brit opened the door to his flat, expecting his American lover in front of the telly; intently watching a new episode of the Avengers, glasses sliding down to the tip of his nose, hand shoved deep into a crisps packaging.

The telly was off and the couch was vacant.

He did, although, hear several thumps and odd sounds that made Arthur, a first class virgin, flush deeply from the tip of his nose to the tip of his ears.

' _Perhaps he's trying to compensate for me not willing to engage in such sexual activities,_ ' he reasoned to himself, guilt suddenly pooling in his stomach as his face kept burning.

The green eyed man shut the door behind him quietly, as to not startle Alfred during his... activities, that would lead to his lover being embarassed. Hooking his satchel at the coat rack that was next to the door, he noticed a scarf that he recognised.

 _'No, it's just a scarf. There are plenty of scarves like that and perhaps Alfred just decided to get himself a scarf... of that colour,_ ' he shook his head, shooing away the horrid memories of his former lover as he shuffled towards the kitchen utensils to prepare himself some tea.

He was interrupted though by a particularly loud thump and groan that caused Arthur to dash towards the room and burst open the door in a moment of concern.

His breath hitched.

He prayed to any god out there that this was a horrid nightmare that had conjured from his anxiety, he willed it was because of his past experience with lovers that his mind made such a cruel imagery.

After a few moments, he snapped back to reality.

He shouldn't express how terrified he was.

"Get _the fuck_ out, _Ivan_ ," he cringed as he allowed the name to roll off his tongue; the green eyed man hated how just by uttering such a name, all memories came flooding back like a wave, drowning him, suffocating him and _breaking_ him.

"I told you I _never_ want to see you again."

"Wait a sec, you _know_ him?!"

"да, that I do," he had the gall as to smile at Arthur, sending shocks of fear through the scrawny man at the door.

The Russian didn't take long before he was out the of their flat, fully dressed.

With that accursed _scarf_ around his neck.

All the Brit had to do now was confront his soon-to-be-former lover.

He mentally checked in whether he had a tub of chocolate ice cream in his freezer.

To say Francis was extremely unimpressed was an understatement.

He was outright _apalled_ at his choice; perhaps he shouldn't be hunting people who were interested in one night stands through an app.

But the successful ones weighed more than the failures, so Francis couldn't really complain.

He barely broke a sweat, though.

His phone vibrated madly on his night stand, Francis instantly picking up the phone due to his knowledge that Arthur would be the only one contacting him at this sort of time.

" _Oui_ , _mon cheri_? Want to—" Francis paused, his ears had captured background noises that had piqued his concern.

And Arthur was quiet.

"Arthur?"

No response.

"Arthur are you watching a _soap opera_?" His voice was woven with worry by that point, weighed down by all the dreadful memories of the Brit's past relationships.

 _"...yes"_

Francis came to a conclusion when Arthur finally spoke.

His voice was so scratchy and meek.

It weighed like the world, though.

"Did you have a tub of chocolate ice cream?"

Francis heard a sniff from the other end, alarming him.

 _"...wanted to get a second, but I'm too tired."_

The Frenchman shot up from the bed, discarding the fact there is another man in bed with him, snoring loudly.

His thoughts were everywhere, wondering and worrying over Arthur, his life long friend who lived two floors above.

He was worried because he had never seen Arthur react to anything so badly to the point he'd watch a _soap opera_ other than back during high school.

Those in particular were plain _dreadful_.

"Rouge?"

 _"Rouge."_ And he hung up.

Francis turned on the ignition as Arthur took a spot on the passenger's seat, shutting the door after him, green eyes sullen.

It was silent other than the hum of Francis' car as they pulled out of their flat parking lot into the road towards the quaint restaurant they both adored.

Arthur pulled his knees up to his chest, knowing that Francis never minded him doing so in the past instances he has done so before. The Brit had grown accustomed to this scene, only it had never had such a crushing effect on his heart nor had it actually caused him to feel suffocated.

Frankly, Arthur _had_ former lovers that he broke up with due to him catching them in the act of cheating, but the relationship with those former lovers didn't last as long nor did it feel as _real_ as the one he had had with Alfred.

Fate decided to slap him in the face with the bitter truth that it wasn't.

The broken man swallowed, feeling his throat tighten painfully. It almost hurt as much as his heart did, Arthur noted cynically.

"It's okay to let it out, _chéri_."

It started quietly as pitiful mewls, gradually escalating to heart-wrenching sobs, escorted with incorherent blubbering.

Francis could only allow his friend to pour out his emotions.

The car's engine had already been turned off for quite sometime, right in front of their favourite restaurant, _Rouge_ , that had warm light filtering out from inside through the big window in front of the restaurant.

Francis was only letting his friend collect himself, waiting for the signal that the Brit had straightened himself up. The Frenchman was slightly concerned for the green eyed man, because he was friends with him since they were in elementary and he had stood by him through the hell that was high school, where Arthur had tried his hand at relationships.

The Brit never had much blessings when it came to the relationship department, evident in how the longest relationship he had back in high school was roughly around one month.

They were young and stupid, so the first break up Arthur had, teen Arthur was left a wreck, and Francis was there to help get him back on his feet.

Eventually, once Arthur had been through seven relationships, the Brit steeled himself and reacted to cheating by being angry instead of breaking down.

That had been how he dealt with cheating and break ups since then.

' _Until now that is,_ ' Francis mentally added as he took a glance at the broken man beside him, with his puffy red eyes, dull green orbs and his figure in a fatal position.

Not like the fierce green eyed lion he had always known.

"...Are you willing to go now?" The blue eyed man queried softly, as though speaking to a terrified rabbit.

Arthur curled into himself a bit more as he sniffed pitifully, "...Just a moment."

" _D'accord_ ," Francis leaned against the head rest, silently cursing the stupid American for leaving Arthur a pitiful mess.

When they finally entered the quaint restaurant they both adored, the friendly face of their beloved friend greeted them warmly.

"Hello, Francis, Arthur," she greeted, a big smile on her face as she led the two to their usual table. She, Elizaveta, had been particularly fond of the two ever since they became her frequent customers.

The lady was brimming with happiness as the two took a seat, and she, knowing their usuals, asked for comfirmation just to make sure.

"Yes, the usual." Francis responded curtly, his smile oh so blatantly fake in the eyes of Elizaveta who had dealt with liars before. She decided to not question it though, until she turned to ask for confirmation from Arthur.

To the Hungarian's shock, the blonde Brit was oddly soft spoken, muttering a quiet "yes"—Elizaveta took note in how scratchy and weighed down by a heavy weight the man's voice was.

She grew concerned.

"Arthur... are you—" Elizaveta felt a warm hand grasp at her wrist desperately, as if begging her to not question anything. The lady glanced at the owner of the hand, Francis, who's eyes were sending a quiet plead to just _stay silent about it_.

Elizaveta knew how close the two were, they had been friends since elementary for goodness' sake; according to the two, so Elizaveta trusted Francis' judgement more than she did her own, because the Hungarian acknowledged as to how complex the human mind is, and she wasn't the person who should be accompanying the sullen man.

She conceded, nodding her head before retreating to the back, allowing the two some alone time considering the time.

Without the Hungarian woman in prescence, it felt as though the weight of the world came crashing back down, but Arthur tried his best; he tried to keep his composure because he was technically still in public for goodness' sake—

"Arthur."

He paused in his fiddling, green eyes still locked on his fingers that trembled slightly.

Arthur realised in how warm his fingers felt after fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

He listened.

"Explain. From the very start; from when you came back from tuition." Francis' voice demanded; he used the tone he'd use on children who misbehaved.

Fatigued, Arthur breathed in loudly before exhaling through his nose, hands rubbing the unimpressionable face of his.

He hated how he looked sometimes.

Worry not, the Brit had always been a notorious cynic, even back in high school; his cynical personality would backfire a good amount of times but it was especially horrid after break ups.

It effected his self-esteem.

The broken man barely had any self-esteem to begin with; thank his siblings for that because despite his parents' compliments, his siblings' insults seem to always drown out the positivity that radiated from their elders.

Ever since he had naively started dating, in impossible hopes of actually being valued with his flaws not by people who's life job is to _love you unconditionally_ , his self-esteem had been pegged down again a good amount until he was 100% positive that his self-esteem levels were in the negatives.

' _Maybe I should just stop dating._ ' Was a fleeting thought that truly interested him as he opened his mouth to recount the emotionally wrecking experience.

"I actually arrived at approximately a quarter after seven," Francis raised an eye brow at the time "it was because there was an emergency and the class was canceled." Arthur explained.

The Frenchman nodded, urging the Brit to resume.

"I entered our flat, and I _do_ admit, I heard sounds, _suspicious_ ones if you'd like to name it but I had given Alfred the benefit of the doubt and made myself some tea," The blue eyed man allowed a small twitch of the lips; Arthur truly adored tea.

The green eyed Brit took a breath before letting it out, hoping to anything up there that he won't cry, not again, not in public—

' _I hate myself_ ' And with that thought, he resumed telling his side of the story "And then, I—" his throat constricted as he recalled the scene that was mercilessly engraved in his mind; he hated it. He wanted to forget all about it but the _goddamned_ scene is just _there,_ in his memories.

He felt like tearing his hair out.

"—then I went to check up on—" he can feel it, he can _feel_ the hot tears that welled up in his eyes and _oh dear god he's in public—_

"Arthur." He heard.

Francis' soothing voice was like a breath of fresh air, for some odd reason or another. The broken man blinked the tears out, letting them fall on his white dress shirt as he took a moment to breathe.

"If you _really_ don't want to tell me, then it's okay. You don't _have_ to after all."

Arthur shook his head hastily, not exactly trusting his voice at the moment.

He just needed to take a moment. A moment to _breathe_.

And Francis was just accross of him, waiting patiently.

Arthur may not have realised it, but Elizaveta hadn't come out from the kitchen to serve them.

She knew that she shouldn't interrupt. God bless this woman and her history with being a sharp individual, Francis thought.

The Frenchman heard a sharp intake of breath from accross him and he instantly focused on the green orbs that _finally, after so long_ looked at him in the eyes.

There was a lingering anguish, Francis detected, but the hollow look was erased and replaced by a small speck of ferocity.

He felt elated.

"—I went to check up on him and when I–when I—" Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, taking steady breaths, before allowing himself to reveal his green eyes again "—when I opened the door—"

It's constricting again.

Arthur's thoughts were going a mile in a minute but all he wanted was a clear mind when he recounts this story to his life long friend. So Arthur took another moment; _closed eyes, steady breaths._

He didn't know how long he took to organise his thoughts and just, _stay calm_ , but he felt much better.

"When I opened the door, and found—" Arthur couldn't say. His throat wasn't constricted; he didn't feel like crying again but why—

"I am serious, Arthur." Francis started after several seconds of crushing silence "If you don't want to tell me—"

"I _want_ to tell _you_." His voice was stern.

Arthur didn't need Francis treating him like fragile glass anymore, as though he'd _break_ and _shatter into pieces_ at even the smallest mistakes.

He didn't _want_ to be like that anymore.

 _He_ , _himself_ , _has_ to take the initiative to build himself back up, not anyone else.

Arthur was honestly really frustrated with himself; wishing there was a way to tell Francis without having to speak—

But that was the coward's way out.

With that thought in mind and sheer determination, he recounted "I found _Ivan_ " Francis' eyes widened in shock, his face draining of colour "and Alfred." It felt so _good_ , to _finally_ be able to tell.

It felt like the weight of the world was _finally_ lifted from his scrawny shoulders.

"I was... very flustered to say the least and yelled at Ivan to just _get the fuck out_ because _I don't want_ to see him _anymore_." His green eyes burned fiercely, and Francis would admit; he flinched a bit at the hostile gaze that wasn't directed at him.

"As expected, Alfred and I had an argument when I asked why." The fire in his eyes dulled somehwat, his shoulders sagging "He said it was because I was too 'distant' and I was such a 'prude'." his voice still held an edge to it, thankfully.

Arthur had never been one to be walked over, he hated the thought. He hated being _used_. And that was what Ivan Braginsky had done to him in their so called 'relationship', a reason why they had such bad blood between them.

Then Alfred had to treat him as though he didn't have his own views on things.

He hated that too.

The green eyed man had another sharp intake of breath, letting it go slowly as to keep his composure. He kept his gaze on his friend's blue eyes and noticed how _different_ his former lover and his friend's eyes were.

Alfred's shimmered like the blue sky, promising freedom and urging him to reach for the skies. But Arthur had to be the one to keep them grounded as to not fly too far and loose grip on the world, losing everything along it.

All the while Arthur had to be the one to watch Alfred soar as he, the one who keeps them grounded, waits on the green grass, making sure Alfred doesn't fly too far and lose his grip.

He had to sacrifice freedom to do that.

Francis'...

Francis' eyes were a dark blue, reflecting the ocean, his eyes also expressed emotions that are presented alongside the body of water; a calm breeze urging the ocean that laps at the soil, giving life to living things, a basic need to every living thing.

Arthur preferred Francis' calm eyes over Alfred's upbeat and energetic ones.

Arthur wasn't fast enough for Alfred.

"I told him to pack up his shit and leave," Arthur had steeled his resolve, he didn't want to be the anchor that is required for a stable relationship anymore. He didn't want to be the one to balance things out; he wanted to be free.

A small crooked smile formed on the Brit's face, provoking a relieved one from Francis' lips.

"I had always been the one to pay the bills, anyway. So he has no right to say that I am not the rightful owner." He grew smug, spirits lifted as Francis breathed a hearty chuckle at the green eyed man's statement.

Coyly, the Frenchman said, "He tried to dispute, didn't he?" At that point, Elizaveta finally came out from the kitchen with their usuals, brimming with happiness once again as she served the two, and a secret look gratitude was thrown at Francis as she retreated back to the kitchen.

"T'was never the lad's intelligence that attracted me," scoffed Arthur, sipping tea from the adorable tea cups that the restaurant used.

Francis was only glad there wasn't a knife above their heads anymore.

They only had a light snack considering the time, and they had paid and were out of the restaurant several minutes after.

"You don't have any class tomorrow, do you?" Francis asked as he started the car's engine.

Arthur strapped the safety belt around him, clicking it securely before responding; "Eh, no." He had a confused look on his face.

"Why?"

"I will drive us to a magical place for gays."

 _A/N:_

 _As always, please excuse the grammar or spelling errors! If possible, do help lil old me by informing me~_

 _R &R please!_


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